


Dear Family Friend

by Caesars_Salad



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Evan Hansen & Jared Kleinman Friendship, Evan Hansen Fucks Up, F/M, Gen, Holy Shit What the Fuck Am I Doing, Insecure Jared Kleinman, Jared Kleinman Angst, Jared Kleinman Being an Asshole, Jared Kleinman Is Bad at Feelings, Jared Kleinman Needs Friends, Jared Kleinman Tries, Jared Tries His Best But Fails, POV Jared Kleinman, Shitfuckasssfuckshitassfuckfacebitchcunt, Uhhh ??????, aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:54:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29586138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caesars_Salad/pseuds/Caesars_Salad
Summary: Dear Family Friend,The story's the same.Stoner kid commits suicide.Evan Hansen lies.Evan Hansen gets tangled in the lies.Evan Hansen fucks up.But how would the story look from someone else's point of view? Perhaps a family friend?Perhaps the insanely cool Jared Kleinman?Sincerely,Me
Relationships: Evan Hansen & Jared Kleinman, Evan Hansen & Zoe Murphy, Evan Hansen/Zoe Murphy, Jared Kleinman & Connor Murphy, Jared Kleinman & Jared Kleinman's Father, Jared Kleinman & Jared Kleinman's Mother
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	Dear Family Friend

"Is it weird to be the first person in history to break their arm from jerking off too much," I say loudly, "Or do you consider that an honour?"

My name is Jared Kleinman.

The kid I'm talking to, his name is Evan Hansen. He's standing by the water fountain, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. He and I, we have a history. My mom sells real estate, and she was the one who helped his mom find a new place to live in. Then we'd invite them over for our swim club in the summertime, yadda yadda. The kid even went to my bar mitzvah.

He's not my friend, not exactly. We're family friends. It's different. You don't actually have to be friends with your family friends, you just have to be nice to them so your parents think you're friends. But not too nice, because then you might actually become their friend. And that's weird. So you only need to be nice enough.

"Paint me the picture, okay," I continue, smirking. "You're in your bedroom, lights off, with smooth jazz playing in the background. You've opened Zoe Murphy's Instagram on your weirdo off-brand phone."

Evan shifts, looking uncomfortable. He fiddles with his fingers, eyes looking everywhere except at me. "Do you wanna know what really happened?" he mumbles, an anxious mess.

"Not really."

"I was climbing a tree, and I fell. That's what happened, not--" he starts fidgeting again, "not what you said."

I chortle. "You fell out of a tree? What are you, an acorn?"

"I was working as an apprentice park ranger. You know?"

"Why would I know that? Of course not."

"Well, anyway," he continues. This kid seriously never shuts up. "I'm kind of a tree expert now. Not to brag, but I saw this amazing forty-foot-tall oak, and I started climbing, and I couldn't stop, and then I..."

I finish the sentence for him, because obviously he's not going to. "Fell."

Evan nods vigorously, like a bobble head. It's kinda freaky. "Yeah. Except, it's funny, because I was just lying there for a good ten minutes after I fell. I was waiting for someone to get me. 'Any second now,' I kept saying to myself. 'Any second now, they'll come'."

I really did not ask for his life story. "And did they?"

"Well, no, nobody came. That's what makes it so funny."

Jesus Christ. That earns a big yikes from me. Is his brain okay? Evan has this weird sense of humour. Honestly? The story sounds kind of pathetic. "Uh-huh..."

There's an awkward few seconds where neither of us say anything. He's made this uncomfortable, and I don't have any charming one-liners I could pull out of my ass to rescue this conversation.

"Was your summer good?" Evan asks.

"Well, my bunk dominated in capture the flag. And I got to hook up with this girl from Israel who's gonna be, like, in the army. Does that answer your question?" I say.

"Do you want to sign my cast?" Evan sputters like a dying car engine. He's holding a Sharpie in his hand. He thrusts it in my direction.

I laugh. He might as well be delusional if he thinks I'm going to sign his cast. "Why are you asking me?"

"Um," He retreats, now gripping the Sharpie with a death grip. He holds his arms, and the marker, close to his chest. He looks sort of like a pitiful child. "Because you're my friend...?"

"We're family friends," I correct him. "It's an entirely different thing. You know it, I've explained it before."

He opens his mouth to speak. About how family friends are technically friends, I presume. I interrupt him before he gets the chance. "Oh, and tell your mother to tell my mom that I was nice to you. Or my parents won't pay for my car insurance."

I walk away.

Honestly? I feel a little bad for not signing Evan's cast. But I don't want other people thinking that we're friends-- actual friends--not just family friends.

///

I make my way through my first classes, then it's lunch. Amazing. I carry my lunch tray through the food line, then make my way to the cash register. Usually I sit by myself, at my own lunch table, but today I see Evan waiting for me. Am I happy to see him.

"You're back," I grumble.

"Can I sit with you today?"

I scrunch my face into some form of disgust. Evan Hansen. Sitting with me. Unlikely. Before I can say anything, there's a shadow passing us.

Uh oh.

It's the notorious Connor Murphy, a dark storm cloud here to rain on our parade. It's not much of a parade, but my point is that I don't want Connor near me.

"Love the new hair length," I mumble, avoiding eye contact. Whether I'm saying this joke to Connor or to Evan, I'm unsure. "Very school-shooter chic."

I can see Connor stop. Heavy boots hit the tiles with a thunk. His eyes, covered by his long, wavy hair, stare at me with such intensity I think I might crumble. And I never crumble. It's just that this guy.... is scary, as much as I hate to admit it. He heard me. He definitely heard me.

"It was a joke," I blabber. "I was kidding. Obviously you're not gonna..." I trail off. This guy scares the ever-living shit out of me.

Connor doesn't move. His expression is steel, stony and cold. "No, it was funny."

I swallow. My hand grips my tray so hard I think it might crack.

"I'm laughing. Am I not laughing hard enough for you?"

My arms are shaking ever-so-slightly. I don't want to get my ass kicked today. I begin to chuckle nervously. "You're such a freak," I say to Connor before scurrying away. I plant myself at the far end of the cafeteria. I half expect Evan to follow me, but he's not. That idiot. Why hasn't he run away yet?

I can't hear their whole conversation over the bustling of the cafeteria; I do pick up a few words, though.

Stop, laugh, freak.

Was that dumbass.... laughing at Connor?

And suddenly, Evan's on the ground, and Connor is towering over him. The room goes silent. All eyes are on Connor, who is glowering at acorn boy.

Connor takes one look around the cafeteria and sends a laser glare around to everyone in the room. Don't talk to me, it says.

He storms off.

I consider helping Evan, I really do. But I don't want to interact with him after this whole fiasco. Because perhaps it's best to pretend that it didn't happen.

That's the solution for everything, isn't it? To pretend that nothing ever happened.

I spoon my food into my mouth and pull out my laptop. Maybe if I can distract myself with coding, I can forget about this.

But as I look up again, there's Zoe Murphy, talking to Evan. She helps him up. He stares. They talk a bit more, and I'm pretty sure that they're planning to hook up later. (Definitely not-- but making a joke out of it is fun.)

///

I survive the rest of the day, but it's not without any scratches. (Although physical scratches, I'm all clear of.) In the halls, Connor glares daggers at me. I can feel my soul getting crushed with every glance. It was like as if he wanted to reach into my chest and grab my heart-- but not in, like, a gay, lovey-dovey way-- and squeeze every last bit of life out of me. It's unnerving.

Life's hard. I don't have many friends at school, (or any friends at all, really, but I will never admit that to anybody) so it's rough to make it through day after day. Whenever I see people talking and laughing and gossiping, my heart twists in some weird way. Then my brain goes, Look, there's that feeling of jealousy again. And it reminds me that I have nobody to talk to.

(Sometimes I wonder if I stop being such an ass towards Evan, I would actually maybe have one sort-of friend.)

So yeah. Life's hard, but I manage.

I just pull out my phone and pretend I'm busy with something else. Like I have something really important on my mind. Something that only I and the people at NASA will understand. (In case you couldn't tell, I'm really smart. Thought I would throw that out there.) But of course, that's not true. It's far from the truth.

Anyway, now the day's over, people are filing out from their classes. A lot of chattering, texting, and meet-ups with friends are happening. As usual, I grab my phone and start scrolling Instagram. My feed mostly consists of memes, selfies, food, and hot models. But I don't pay attention to what's on my screen, not really. Instead, I listen to people in the halls. It's how I get my news around here. Stay in the loop, if you will.

I hear things about a Madeline and a Jake and a Heather. Something about a Jason and slushies. Another thing about a John. Nothing that's worth my time.

As I travel to my locker, I fiddle with my headphone cord. It's not plugged in.

My locker is a few lockers away from the computer lab-- about five-- so it's diagonal from the door. Just as I sort my headphones out and unlock the metal box, I hear the clunking of boots, approximately in the direction of the lab.

I look up, and, yep, it's the rain cloud. He storms (pun very much intended) out of the lab, a piece of paper gripped in his fist. It crinkles in his grip. I watch him fold the paper and tuck it into his jacket pocket. He glances at me before disappearing around a corner, his icy gaze freezing me in place.

I can't help but wonder what that paper was.


End file.
